


Involuntary

by Mssilverwoods



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mssilverwoods/pseuds/Mssilverwoods
Summary: Two parts. Inspired by the ‘wait for your wedding night’ scene with Louisa and Margo.
Relationships: Louisa Durrell/Spiros Halikiopoulos
Comments: 20
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

She catches sight of him from over the top of the laundry that she is carrying. He is sitting on the bed in his attic room, in the morning sun. She thought he was out with the taxi, and the sight of him here catches her off guard.

Ordinarily she would have nudged one of her offspring into helping with the chores but there are only two at home and both are chasing girls or animals. She thinks to say something light and teasing, maybe about lapsing on his duties too, but the words stick as she seems him rub his hands over his head. She hears him sigh, one of those fractured breathes, and realises he is wiping tears from his face. 

She feels something of his pain, the loss of Lawrence and the end of life as she had known it. That the loss was something that invoked anger at the world, even at her husband for his passing and God for putting her family through this. This, whatever ‘this’ complex situation with Spiro is, is of her making and his. There is no question that it was not a happy marriage from the start but their actions have escalated it. 

Quietly, she puts the laundry on the landing table and comes to his side. Her hands slip around his shoulders and just as he once did in the taxi for her, she holds on as he weeps, his face buried in her neck, her mouth by his ear. 

She cannot speak, for the words that she wants to say are untruths. She has no idea if it’ll be alright and time will make amends, that God provides and his friends will understand. There is one truth which she said it to Florence. She wants him, and loves him, but at what cost to his principles and honour.

Her hands seem entirely without morals as her fingers map his spine and rest on his thigh in the manner of a lover. Had she walked past to see him in such a embrace with a woman, she too would have made conclusions. She snatches her betraying limbs back as he composes his emotions, muttering an apology which she pats away.

All those months ago, years indeed, when he held her, she reminded herself he was married. Her place was not in his arms, where she felt safe. The line between reliable taxi driver and widow had blurred in that gesture, to close confidant and something more she could not identify. There wasn’t really a word for him, save for his name and the way it made her feel when she heard it said.

Now, in the soft light of the Corfuit morning, and the peace of the house, she feels on the precipice of change. That one of many gestures would make them both stray from proper behaviour. Even if she would, he may not and the rejection would kill her.

In a rush, she rises from his bed and adopts a familiar, easy smile that he would have seen before, to set the world right for them both. She thinks she’s managed it as her heart slows.

Quietly he rises too and she is about to invite him to the kitchen, which is his abode as much as hers. Instead she watches with a odd sense of calmness and inevitability as he closes the door and turns the key.


	2. Chapter 2

She is expecting to see fear or anger on his face. Something that tells her that the reason for locking the door is innocent. What she doesn’t want to see is lust. It would capitulate him from friend to a man with sexual too fast so her eyes remain interested in the floor. That spot on the rug that she missed when she ragged it. The gains of sand, how on earth did they get here?

When his finger tilts up her chin, she finds a soft, gentle gaze, free of worries. Typical Greek she wants to complain but she felt those tears. It is, she thinks, the look of man who feels absolutely ready to leap from one life to another, like Lawrence. But no, this is not him. This is her making a leap of faith too.

Her eyes, she hopes, say yes. They surely must as he bestows a kiss to her neck, nuzzling her shirt from it’s resting place by her skin. Then he moves down her arm and with a warm twinkle he kisses the back of her hand. Impatiently, she twists her palm to face his lips and he begins his journey up, strong hands holding her firm against him as a thumb grazes her breast. The stubble on his face scratches her sensitive skin. It's not enough, he's being too gentle. She pushes him backwards and then grabs his shirt, shoving it down his arms where it falls off the floor, scattering the grains of sand away. With a sharp tug she has the hems of his vest in her hands and over his head, his mouth landing between her breasts rewarding her with hot kisses. His hands begin to work on her buttons and...

The door below them slams. Both pause and hear the voices of her sons calling her. Her heart aches, why isn't anything easy? Quietly, unselfishly, he lets her go. Later, she mouths with a press of her fingers to his mouth, later. As she turns, he pulls her back, bestowing a chaste kiss to her lips that promises so much more. Later.

Downstairs she’s swept up in the return of Larry. All the while... later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part has smut, you can skip it if you wish or read it and don't tell anyone...! It’s an alternative ending to chapter 1

She is expecting to see fear or anger on his face. Something that tells her that the reason for locking the door is innocent. What she doesn’t want to see is lust. It would capitulate him from friend to a man with sexual urges much too fast so her eyes remain interested in the floor. That spot on the rug that she missed when she ragged it. The gains of sand, how on earth did they get here?

When his finger tilt up her chin, she finds a soft, gentle gaze, free of worries. Typical Greek she wants to complain but she felt those tears. It is, she thinks, the look of man who feels absolutely ready to leap from one life to another, like Lawrence. But no, this is not about him. This is her making a leap of faith too with Spiro.

Her eyes, she hopes, say yes. They surely must as he bestows a kiss to her neck, nuzzling her shirt from it’s resting place by her skin. Then he moves down her arm and with a warm twinkle he kisses the back of her hand. Impatiently, she twists her palm to face his lips and he begins his journey up, strong hands holding her firm against him as a thumb grazes her breast. The stubble on his face scratches her sensitive skin and then there’s a second, more luscious kiss to the side of her neck that sets her skin on fire in a way she’s never felt before. He nips her with his teeth and she sighs in pleasure.

Behind his shoulder she sees the ghost of herself, the scatty, often irrational mother, leave the room. This, she realises, isn’t a space for her and her silly ideas or guilt. 

Gathering him to her, her fingers in his hair, she holds him closer, as his mouth traverses down her body, a wet slide down her blouse towards her breasts. As thrilling as this might be, she needs more. Sensing this, he moves away, his eyes dancing and she has no words or witty response just a gasp of breath and then she shoves her hands inside his shirt, pinging the buttons away, grappling at his clothes. He tells her to slow down but then speeds up himself.

He walks her backwards to the bed, flipping her down and she pulls him with her, he falls with graceful ease, devouring her. Her otherself would want to giggle, but she’s long gone and now all she wants is to not care so she loses herself, as his mouth and then fingers explore her.

She was always shy of studying Lawrence naked. Even in the heat of India, their ingrained sense of Britishness came first. Sensible night clothing and the risk of pregnancy, put pay to sex for fun. Louise supposes that one of the wonderful things about later in life love is who cares. Yet she’s oddly nervous of studying Spiro or letting him see her. Her hands itch to pull the sheet over them but he pushes the offending bed clothing away

When her eyes flicker close she opens them with a start, not just because his mouth is heading down there - and goodness, that’s wonderful - but that she may not see this again. In her heart, she knows their time maybe brief however hard she will fight for him. The world outside cares little for her love for this passionate man. He lingers long enough to let her stare, really stare. If she hadn’t known the biology of it, she’d baulk at his impressive size. He lets her touch him, allowing her to gain confidence, aware of the breadth of his shoulders and his arm muscles straining to hold him up. She takes him in her hand and her eyes widen as he lets her, briefly, she knows by the gasp that she should stop. For now.

Her thighs tremble, bared as they are in this unusual position. He’s breathing her in, as he does with fine coffee or the sea air and then with a grin, he’s touching her with his lips, his hands on her legs, encouraging her to let go. The aching that she feels is briefly quelled by the roll of her hips which causes him to respond with a growl. She realises that this must excite him too as he mutters her name, her real name, his hips squirming down on the mattress. Suddenly she’s flying beneath him, hearing her blood in her ears and it’s all so incredible.

As she comes back to earth, he’s moving back up, bestowing kisses on her and she still feels the vibrations coursing through her veins. He waits, asking for permission and she’s quick to grant it. There’s a look of reverence on his face as she wraps a leg around his hip, and he holds it as he enters her, fitting together like jigsaw pieces, moving as a pair until she trembles and quivers beneath him, muttering his name like a curse.

Then she hears him, a shudder, her name again, and then a heartbreaking sob, as if his release is cutting him free. She thinks of his sacrifice, to his morals and his life, and cries with him. She finds his mouth, suddenly aware she’s yet to feel his lips on hers and he responds. It seems somewhat appropriate that this comes last, when have they been anything but different. 

Curling her hair in his fingers, there are no words. She rests her head against him, legs tangled and the blessed sheet around their ankles. They share a giddy smile. In the distance she hears voices. There’s no hurry, she doesn’t imagine any of her family would care if she did emerge from Spiro’s room, she anticipates a cheer. Nevertheless, she lets herself unfurl from his arms and adopt her poise of mother and tamer of animals. She knows she’ll never be the same person again.


End file.
